The Power of a Kiss
by RegencyPoet
Summary: One should never underestimate the power of a kiss. When a kiss is committed to with unresolved feeling and requited passion, a kiss that is meant for the unification of two souls, an unbreakable bond is forged.  A series of 3 one-shots.
1. The Power of a Kiss

EDITED: Soo, after being long absent from the writing aspect of FFnet for some time now (I always blame school, but it truly is a significant factor as to why I haven't been writing), I decided to try to wedge myself into the Once Upon A Time fandom and write a Rumbelle fic. Who doesn't love Rumbelle? I'm actually terrified of putting this out here because I have done very little editing since finishing this one-shot, but I just wanted to see the reaction it got from a few readers. It's quite different compared to some of the fics I've been reading out there in the way I wrote it, so I am laying this story out for you readers to critique it and comment on it as much as you can. I hope I can please some readers and writers of this fandom, for I'm a little bit rusty since my long-awaited return to FFnet again. Enjoy! Reviews would be lovely! (A/N: I have decided this will be part one of a three part one-shot, so expect more to come! Additionally, I have recently heavily edited this story and added about 300 more words to the plot!)

"Believing even in the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing."  
>–Mary Margaret Blanchard<p>

* * *

><p>A drop of dew created from what little condensation formed on the tiny window to the cell trailed down in a tiny rivulet, settling on the smooth skin of Belle's forehead. Its cold touch stretched out like the hand of a stranger and roused her from another restless sleep with a jolt, warning her of that predetermined moment where her specially-crafted poison would murder her dreams into a singular illusion of nothingness. A groan escaped her lips, but she refrained from opening her eyes, for opening them to this miserable unreality meant she would sink under the force of a wave doomed to wash away her memories of another place—a place only she can recall in the deep recesses of sleep. These nightly visions were her sole comfort in this dastardly place of stale dust and pungent sanitization; they had been a curious warmth when there was no other body to hold her, no rumbling voice filling her heart with exultation and security. That person was only allowed to reach out to her on the other side of her eyes, and even then the sudden flashes of his face have often been wiped from existence upon the second her slumbering ends. The jingle of keys had drawn nearer to her cell, metal sliding into the hollow socket of the lock and turning ever so slightly to the right to unify Belle with her worst nightmare.<p>

Heels clicked into the tiny room, belonging to a woman dressed in a rather lackluster white dress who sauntered in quietly. A small metal tray sat in the palm of her hand, and on the cold hard surface of the tray laid the source of her daily despair. Belle clung desperately to the images while they slowly dissipated into the back of her mind, letting another long lost memory left to be forgotten for the thousandth time as her eyes flew open.

She sat up cautiously from her padded bed, mouth drawn into a visible straight line at the sight of her wretched adversary. How long had this woman been assigned to keeping this girl locked away from the world, making her forget that she even existed in such a place when all she has known was the structure of the cell, her eternal prison? Belle's lips tightening ever more, she found herself repeating the very same question she had asked the sour-faced woman on a regular basis. The brunette expected nothing but a look of contempt and distaste shot in her direction before the imminent struggle with the needle. "Can you tell me who I am?"

The woman would proceed like she has now with a flick against the glass of the syringe, a light push to release any air bubbles in the hollow tube, approaching Belle at a slow and watchful gait meant to put the girl at ease. Belle was wise enough to know that evil came in all forms, whether this knowledge had been preordained or self-taught, she would never know. But Nurse Ratched's demeanor had always been so disgustingly sweet since as far back as she can remember, and she reminded herself of this each time the injection was administered—Ratched was the ward of this holding for a reason: her evil lurked beneath that thick skin of hers, and surely no one can seek out this wretchedness when eyes fell on the face of pristine goodness she had so diligently sculpted. Thus, after an unimaginable couple decades in this wasteland (she was estimating around three as of late—what else could a girl do with time to kill for the remainder of her life?) and to Belle's shock, Ratched tossed a fascinated glance in her direction and smiled. The woman's grin chilled her to the core. It bore no compassion, no warmth, no trace of salvation—only straight-laced mockery for the girl who could no longer remember who she was in this world. That smile had come from the pit of her rotten heart, saved solely for Belle to bear witness to. She was, after all, Ratched's most favorite patient.

Nurse Ratched merely answered, "You are a _pawn_." Four words spoken after several years of persistent medication and unspoken answers had been enough to spark the young woman's memory like oil to a flame. It felt like she had been whipped back, toppled over by a force unexplained in the barrenness of reality. Her body lit aflame from the inside; the whipping, the flaying, the chains, they are all perpetually present on her skin. The dark eyes so curious in the vicinity of the cell door they frequented struck a chord in her memory, putting the eyes to a name responsible for a lifetime of pain she endured after leaving _him_. And lastly, _his_ face is omnipresent in her mind—the quirk of his mischievous grin, the way his hand outstretches toward her in question, the silent longing hidden in his unearthly eyes. The kiss.

One should never underestimate the power of a kiss. When the act is committed without sentiment as a mere desire for intimacy, it is an act with neither cause nor intended thought and therefore carries no meaning from one life to the next. When a kiss is committed to with unresolved feeling and requited passion, a kiss that is meant for the unification of two souls, an unbreakable bond is forged. No matter the destiny of the two souls who create this union, even when innumerable dead ends and forks in life's road are determined to sever the couple's love for an eternity; when they have thrown briny thorns and brambles in their paths, that bond linking the two in perfect harmony with one another strung also a tiny thread of hope from heart-to-heart. This hope carried with it a faint memory of the love the couple shared in their hearts, and intentions of the pair becoming united once again. And once upon a time, Belle had partaken in such an act with her destined. The memories that pierced the veil of fog in the confines of her mind assured her of that fact nightly. She gritted her teeth, nails digging into the skin of her head from the pain of it all coming back to her, and soon an awakened Belle felt herself struggling against the woman with the syringe, knowing all too well that everything would be ripped out from under her again… and he would be lost to her for the thousandth time.

Belle cannot recall on one hand a moment when the images of her distant past reached out to her in the waking hours of day, but the struggles with this woman and that very syringe haunted her day-by-day. She had fought against its amnesiac properties a hundred times previously; clenching shut the doors of her mind to keep one last memory to herself before her mind became the epitome of oblivion again.

Ratched moved forward to restrain her, slapping her into submission and forcing the tip of the needle dangerously close to Belle's tender skin. She screamed out in defiance and swung her limbs every which way to blockade the invasion of the poison. She _had_ to fight for this freedom to remember, even if it meant being beaten into forgetting. It had happened to her in the past, and Belle was sure she could endure such a tragedy again. Two other individuals dressed in the monster's likeness filtered into the room, seizing hold of her arms and legs in a tight vice. Belle struggled against them as well, but happy endings were not her forte, and she knew there would be no savior.  
>Tears had been running off of Belle's face in rivers as she kicked and punched and <em>sobbed<em>. The men in white coats had her in a death grip, freezing her limbs into a reluctant stillness in preparation for that dose of poison.

"I'll be back again," she whispers, voice unwavering and strong. In her last moments of clarity, she would be brave. Her baby blues found the frozen orbs of the nurse and they momentarily narrowed in spite. "I _will_ find him, no matter the price I have to pay." Belle swallowed, biting back the last of her tears. If it only took a couple of words to remember a lifetime, she suspected this occurrence would happen again. "I _always_ come back." Defeat is not an option. Victory will be in her grasp if it takes another 28 years to do so.

Nurse Ratched stared back with equal force, the curvature in her mouth twitching upwards into a sneer. "We shall see."

And then the needle went under.

And then Belle went under with it.

The medicine drowned her, throwing her body into convulsions as the liquid swallowed every fragment of who she is one-by-one. This poison sought no end in bringing her misery to a halt; it paid no sympathy to the emptiness she now felt. Belle's mind slowly drained into a pool of nothingness, wiped clean for a new day.

She has no name anymore.

She does not _exist_.

The struggling stopped as the needle retracted from her veins, silencing her. She observed with wide eyes the three people witnessing her spasm, puzzled as to why they were holding her down. Her mind lay cloudy, blockaded, and numb. Something paper-thin slept dormant behind the door she could not unlock in her thoughts, and it appeared to appease the three workers in white for her forgetfulness.

One stepped forward, the familiar woman, _Ratched_, and asked, "Do you know who you are?"

"No," said the mental patient. "But," she hesitated. "I know someone who does," the patient gleamed. "There's this man, though he's not a man, who humors me in my dreams." Her eyes looked distant, unclear. "His words are like fire in my veins… he makes me feel _alive_ again… but he is only a voice in my mind. He said he knows—"

"Belle." The four of them turn to face the man in the doorway, who had a look of hellfire and devotion on his pale and strangely human face. She breathed inward at the sight of him, a single image rotating back and forth behind her eyes.

A kiss shared between them in a different time, in a different place.

Another world filled her head with unimaginable light again. True love's kiss breathed life into her being.

Belle had been reborn.


	2. Wilted

I want to thank everyone who reviewed a story I was so nervous about posting in this fandom. Like I said before, I am still getting used to the characterization and interactions in the OUAT FFnet section (especially Rumbelle, my god) and I am very uniquely proud to say I loved writing the second part to this three part one-shot to bits. It was probably the best form of therapy I could ever have when it comes to the stress of college and life, and I am genuinely touched that Rumbelle is bringing my love of writing back to life again. As always, I love any form of sincere criticism, so reviews are always welcome! Enjoy!

"Dreams are memories of another life."  
>- Mr. Gold<p>

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><p>Before the day she was rescued, in a land where the world was young and the air weaved tender folds of magic across the realm, dreams had frequently stolen her away in the night—they were her temporary savior, her prince that nursed her sanity in darkness, and her wholesome serenity. Dreams sang sweet lullabies in her ears during slumber and sprinkled precious dust on her eyelids to ease her wounded heart. They kissed her lips until her mouth could be kissed no longer in dream world, yearning for the preferred physical touch only <em>he<em> could sate. And when the pain of that reality had sunk its nails in too deep and sleep became too bittersweet of a companion to bestow her bliss, Belle had pressed her cold, shaking palms to that solitary window in the Queen's tower and simply _watched_ the world pass her by.

Spring's glorious blossoms would come and go; the flowers that sat at the bottom of the tower had budded so quickly into a delightful azure and so slowly reflected the hue of her sad eyes. Belle watched them sprout from tiny seedlings as the months passed, and once autumn had layered her sheet of frost upon the ground, she had witnessed them wither into the earth. That's one thing her and the little blooms had in common.

They had _wilted_.

Winter had clenched her bones in its frozen grip for days and nights on end, and the Queen made sure to take no liberties in giving her comfort in that tower. The year of her captivity passed by in a blur of occasional whippings that rendered her limbs immobile for weeks. Her body was starved without warning, her hair turned into a matted dirty mess, and from time to time the Queen herself paid a visit to take pleasure in her misery. The royal bearing the blackest heart of hearts filled Belle's head with poisonous sentiments on a whim, words that tried to darken the red rose into a deathly purple. Her efforts had failed in the beginning, for the love that had taken root in her spirit fought against the Queen fiercely. But as the months drew longer and the punishment grew harsher, Belle had been diminished to those very flowers that lay dead at the base of her prison, _wilted_.

A petal detached itself from the stem of her heart each day spent in imprisonment away from her true savior, from her only happy ending, and those petals fell like hot summer rain when it dawned on her that even _he_ had not searched to the ends of the world to be certain of her secured happiness. Belle surprised herself by greeting the wilted state that her heart had become, waiting for the day when it would transform into a bleeding core—an acknowledgement that she was ready to welcome the end of her time… until the day she got wind of the curse that would end all curses. That had been the day she heard his _voice_. She had bloomed again like her beloved cerulean flowers in the spring.

He did not know that she lived, as she had thought otherwise. The Queen quite happily informed her that he had acquired knowledge of Belle passing into another life. But she had _heard_ him—heard the caveats sent directly to the Queen about what would happen to this world when the heartless woman unleashed the darkness.

And Belle was more than ready to accept this fate.

She embraced the black as it wrapped around her form, hugging it to herself as it washed her memory clean. Wherever it would take her, she knew this curse, this _war_, it had only just begun. She would not let herself _wilt _again.

* * *

><p>Belle knew her dreams would reunite her with him one day, but she had not expected such a reunion to be like this—that they would reconvene in the dank holding of a mental asylum; her, the drugged embodiment of madness in a world where magic hummed just below their feet, laying hidden to its carriers, and he, the feared pawnbroker and owner of a town called Storybrooke who kept his own secrets burrowed deep inside his empty heart.<p>

What a _match_.

Due to recent news of a certain lunatic who called himself the Hatter disrupting the inauspicious peace of Storybrooke, word had gotten around about a hidden asylum he was rumored to have escaped from. The Hatter described the asylum as a place where those who "have knowledge of a life beyond the confines of Storybrooke" are locked away, forgotten, and abandoned by their families who could not bear to see their children stricken with such a tragic malady. Rumpelstiltskin—no, _Mr. Gold_, had heard the tales the Hatter listed on two hands of what kind of occupants sat imprisoned in the institution. And of those tales came the story of a problematic beauty a powerful queen had personally locked up, who had to be medicated three times a day _because_ she could remember. She would speak of magic, of happy endings, and of a man who could have granted her both. Each time these matters surfaced from her lips, Hatter spoke of hearing her screams and shouts countless of cells away and not two minutes later, her silence.

That was when he knew she was real and very much alive, in mind and in body.

It didn't take long for him to track down the sheriff and inform her of the misdeeds and unlawful discrepancies the asylum bore with it. With the law and a warrant at his side, he was there faster than the Mayor herself could fathom even lifting a finger.

All of this had been disclosed to Belle the moment he had her removed from the institution—the moment when one glance at his face had burned those flickering memories into her brain for an eternity.

Belle can remember the moment when the sunlight had kissed her pale skin for the first time in 28 years, hugging and cherishing her as it enveloped her in its rays. She could not bring to mind the last time she had greeted it like an old friend, but Belle had nearly three decades to make up for this loss. And there stood Mr. Gold, looking onwards and smiling like he hadn't been able to in the 30 years his eyes were not graced with her unmistakable beauty. But the smile had been guarded, restrained. He had an inkling he would lose her again.

Yes, old habits die hard.

Yet here they were, not 24 hours later to the moment Belle had been rescued from her tower, the pair not knowing what to say to each other.

Sheriff Swan, the woman Mr. Gold arrived with upon her jailbreak, had allowed temporary release in the custody of Belle and the other patients under conditions in which time would be allotted for the reunification of their families under these curious circumstances. Belle so longed to see the face of her Papa, to feel his arms wrapped securely around her shoulders again, but an unfamiliar image of her father signing the papers of her entrapment that surfaced in her memory held her back from her request to visit. She walked back into knowing and familiar arms instead, and to her embarrassment, she did not know how to approach the conversation she had imagined for a very long time since her departure from her previous life.

The two sat awkwardly in the untidy living room of his home. She had taken comfort in a loveseat placed nearest to the window so that she could look out at the sun if his gaze had become too intense to endure. He preferred to stand an appropriate distance from her, leaning all of his weight dependently on the cane he grasped between his hands.

Belle had not expected it to be like this. She was sure a person could hear a pin drop from the other room.

The world waited with baited breath for the words neither could say.

Belle imagined their reunion to be filled with whispers and kisses he could not give her in his other state of being. She dreamt of their passion, their love restrained for over 30 years being unleashed in a delightful fury. Instead, they refrained from physical contact entirely, because she had suspected they were _afraid_ of what would become of the other if such an act would take place.

Releasing a puff of air from her lungs, resigned, Belle began with, "Thank you, for finding me." Her cheeks burned at the expression she found on his face at hearing her speak for the first time, not regretting that she had broken the silence.

He cleared his throat to regain his voice and bowed his head. "Belle, I didn't—"

"Know I was alive?" she let out a low, soft laugh, curling her legs under herself and finally meeting his eyes. "I know you didn't. Well," Belle paused, "only for that final month of the year I spent in her tower. But I was _barely_ alive. She made sure I would suffer until my last breath."

She broke the fierce contact his eyes made at the mentioning of the Queen, looking out the window at her first sunset she's witnessed in quite a while. It's funny how slow the world had passed her by when she could finally _see_ it firsthand, and how fast the heartrending years had turned when she lived without light. The angle of the sun in the sky determined that it was late afternoon; Belle's release from captivity had just occurred that very morning at sunrise.

Mr. Gold swallowed, choosing his words wisely as he watched the face that turned away from him twist into a myriad of fascinating expressions. He was putting himself in a very, _very_ vulnerable position making so many confessions in a matter of an hour, but he had feared their time was limited. If he didn't see her again after today, at least he would walk away from her knowing he had said and meant every word.

"I would have torn every tower down, brick by brick, if I knew that you lived." The coward inside him at his deepest core kicked in, the coward that is Rumpelstiltskin, screaming at him to back down and flee from his greatest weakness. But Mr. Gold took a deep breath and pressed on, looking at Belle with such tenderness it was unnatural… it was so _human_. "I would have taken you back at any moment, if you would have only asked."

"I imagine you would have," she replied. Belle folded her hands in her lap and sighed, pitying the man for his current state of vulnerability. However sad he looked, it didn't prevent her from holding back her brazen words, for she knew he deserved just as much of a backlash as he had ever deserved from the woman he sent walking out of his castle. "But stories don't end that way," she merely stated. "You cast me out of your life like I had meant nothing to you, you denied feeling any form of love for me, and I didn't believe you for one second, Rumpelstiltskin." Belle felt herself rising from the loveseat, battling the internal war going on inside her as she walked with tiny steps toward where he stood. "The day I found out that it was _your_ curse, not the Queen's, that she had intended to use for the destruction of our world—that was the day I knew you loved me," she proclaimed bravely. "And you love me still." Her feet stopped moving when she reached Mr. Gold, a ghost of a smirk blooming across her mouth when she stared into his face.

With little hesitance, Belle lifted her hand to his face, brushing her palm again the pale, human flesh that made up his skin. His eyes were more russet in this world, she thought to herself, more penetrating and raw than she remembered. He leaned into her touch like a moth to a flame, resting a hand of his own on hers.

Their hands fit over each other's like a glove.

"Our story was never a happy ending even before the curse was enacted," she whispered, her lips a tempting brush away from surrender. No matter the pain of the situation they found themselves in, Belle had yearned for this moment for a lifetime. Tears welled in her eyes from the strength of the tension cutting through the air, and Mr. Gold brushed them off as fast as they came with a swipe of his thumb. His eyes watched her with such intensity that Belle ducked her head in shame, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

"No, it wasn't," he confessed. His hand went from her cheek down to her chin, tilting it upwards to meet her bright eyes once more. "I regret every moment I wasn't there to protect you from the torment you endured under her reign, and I promise you I will be paying back every one of those hours and years you suffered for the rest of my life." It was with those words that Belle looked up at him in a strange light, realization dawning on her in that moment. He let a smile escape him at his weakest point, bringing them closer than ever before. His hand slipped about her waist and pulled her flush against him.

Her heart swelled with anticipation.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only _watch_.

"We didn't have a happy ending when the beauty first fell in love with the beast, but it's never too late to be what we once were… to try again."

Their lips found one another's in that instant, and the wilted petals that had been Belle's heart _blossomed_ into something much more than a mere rose. For in that split second, curse or no curse, her soul had taken flight with his, and nothing in the world could wrench her from that happy ending.


	3. Ours

I'll admit I cried a little bit writing the last segment of this three part one-shot. I basically bottled up all of my emotions from these past two weeks and put it into this chapter, and I'm pretty satisfied with it. I listened to one or two songs when writing each chapter to this story, and mainly the majority of this one was written to My Love by Sia since the lyrics meshed so well with the plotline. Since this story is now drawing to a close, I'm not entirely sure if I want to continue into writing another Rumbelle fanfiction because there's so many good writers out there already, but you never know when inspiration's gonna strike! Reviews are appreciated! Enjoy!

"She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her away, she adjusted her sails."  
>-Elizabeth Edwards<p>

* * *

><p>Amidst the tall grasses, in the centered blaze of the sun's rays that kissed her pale skin into a heated pink, there frolicked a child in a dress made from the sky.<p>

_Our_ child, Belle thought with every tender flicker of a glance her eyes made toward the young girl. Our little_ Evelyn_.

She looked onward as Evelyn plucked a dandelion from its stem, letting out a most enchanting and innocent laugh that shook her mother to the very center of her being. Such innocence had come with a price, it always did, however Belle had not anticipated the price to be of such a tremendous impact on her future—that she would lose the most important figure who had ever trampled in on her life, leaving an imprint, a blackened hole that can only be filled by a daughter's love. A shiver fell through her body that instant, tightening her strained but ever-beating heart, quivering her lips until her eyes glossed over with tears.

But she is _ours_. She is the product of their love and their misery, their passion and their yearning. She is the proof that their love outlasted the darkness of the curse; the glass shards of its ruins nothing but dust in the air after less than four years since that tragedy's end.

"Mama!" Evelyn cried out in glee, running her dainty little feet across the grassy meadow and into Belle's arms. Her mother smiled through her tears and lifted Evelyn into the air, kissing her rosy cheeks that dimpled in mirth. The child held out the dandelion she had taken earlier, offering the yellow blossom to Belle, "I brought you a flower, Mama! It can keep the roses company in the dining hall. They always look rather lonely." Evelyn's dark eyes, _his _eyes, shone brightly as Belle accepted the flower, tucking it carefully into the basket she had carried along with them on their midday trek through the moors.

"Then I shall keep it safe with me until it meets its rosy friends, darling." Evelyn clapped her hands together, thoroughly pleased with Belle's response, and ran off into the tall grasses again on her second adventure of the day.

Belle turned to walk in a similar direction with a strict eye on her daughter, musing over the vibrant buds flourishing under the warmth of the afternoon sun. The widow did not walk far when she breathed in the scent of honeysuckle and sweet grass pungent in the air, catching an abrupt drift of heated spices that passed by her neck as if it had pressed an aching kiss into her skin. She gasped at the familiar scent, whipping her head around every which way expecting his face to be there, but fate had dealt her a blow that had stolen his permanence from her life. Belle can only meet him in her dreams as she had on those thousands of nights spent in delusion and clouded ignorance within the asylum… the image of him appearing to her whole and new and _in love_ again can never be in two places at once upon waking anymore. The tears, silent and sweetly tragic, slipped from her eyes when the feeling of his presence disappeared. It was always just a singular moment in time when she could detect him in the air, passing by when the breeze blew at its strongest—the first occurrence had frightened her, believing herself to have lost her wits at last, but Evelyn clearly acknowledged that she could feel him, too. And at times when Belle thought she heard his voice whisper on the traces of wind flying by her ears, Evelyn had _seen_ him.

The day of their daughter's second birthday was the original incident. Belle brought her to the grasslands the minute Evelyn could walk upright, holding her hands for support against the blistering wind outside. Not ten minutes into the walk, Evelyn released one of her hands from her mother and _pointed_, exclaiming, "Papa!"

Belle remembered gaping, open-mouthed, witnessing what her eyes could not see.

Evelyn had been nothing but a babe growing in her belly when Emma destroyed all remnants of the curse, the Queen included; she had come into this life long after her father had departed. But their daughter greeted him like she had known him since the day she was born, and it made Belle's heart swell with both grief and elation. Evelyn's birthday triggered a series of moments since that fateful day where they bore witness to the truth that though he wasn't there to comfort, to love, he was watching over them.

She just hoped that one day she could rejoin him in that paradise where they would meet once more. Until that moment, however, she had a daughter to take care of and a life to live on.

That evening, when Evelyn was tucked into bed and kissed goodnight and Belle could finally meet him on the other side of her lids, she dreamt of strange and delightful things:

_Belle blinked away the tears of happiness in her eyes, hands shaking in terror and pure bliss after stepping out of the physician's office with a piece of paper grasped so tightly in her grip she nearly put a hole in it. This sheet of test results held her future happiness and woe, but the gratifying joy outweighed all imminent worries Belle had imagined. Her feet quickened into a fast walk, eventually turning into a run toward the pleasantly pink manor three streets over. It was around dinner time, the sun hovering on the line of the horizon to ensure her safe trip home before night blanketed the light of the sky.  
><em>

_He was attempting the dinner she originally planned to cook in celebration of their second year of marriage, failing miserably at the task.  
><em>

_"I think you should stick to making the tea, dear. Let me do the cooking," Belle smirked, planting a kiss on his jaw and tucking the folded paper into the pocket of her jeans. She began to hum a familiar tune as an attempt to calm her rampant nerves, eyeing her husband's mess of a meal. An unrestrained grin formed on her rosebud lips.  
><em>

_"Well, when I didn't have you cooking for me, love, I vaguely remember conjuring my meals out of necessity, and prior to that it was gruel," he teased. "Forgive me for not having the magic touch at culinary art." He brought a strawberry up to her mouth in apology, eyes flashing with invited mischief as Belle's lips closed around the fruit.  
><em>

_She bit into the sweet ripeness of the strawberry, leaning into him to press her reddened mouth delicately against his. Gold wrapped an arm tight around the curve of her waist and pulled her in, more than happy to steal a taste of the fruit's juices on his wife's lips. They broke the kiss momentarily once Belle set a hand on his chest, looking into the russet eyes of her lover, positively glowing.  
><em>

_"I wanted to save this until later tonight, but I just couldn't wait to tell you." Gold's eyes stared, perplexed as her left hand moved into her back pocket, lifting out a single slip of paper with multiple lines of print on the front and back. "It looks like you might have to take up cooking as a hobby after all." Belle handed the paper, unfolded, to him, taking his right hand in hers and pressing it over her stomach. He looked at her, startled, as realization dawned on his face at the meaning of her simple action. "We're having a little baby."  
><em>

_A child that can be __**ours**_._  
><em>

_The smile Gold reciprocated was composed entirely of pure adoration. Like Belle, elation had won out over anxiety, and he drew her in to kiss her like he hadn't seen her in a hundred years. Their fingers entwined, holding fast to each other to soak in the suspended moment of disbelief the gods had gifted them. Gold's long fingers moved from the swell of her hip and brushed over her abdomen, focused, knowing.  
><em>

_His lips moved against Belle's as he spoke, a smile itching to surface on his mouth, "She will be such a delight, love," Gold murmured.  
><em>

_Belle shot her gaze up toward his face. "She?" his wife questioned.  
><em>

_"Our little Evelyn," he explained.  
><em>

_And Evelyn she would be named._

_ Belle found herself barefoot on the grassy fields two miles from the main road that led to her home, the soft creamy fabric of her nightgown billowing past her legs as the wind blew in quick circles around her body, howling. The silver crescent of the moon shining in the night sky illuminated the ground in front of her, casting off an eerie glow that stretched for acres across the land.  
><em>

_This was still a dream, she knew. A dream too vivid, too _controlled_, to be a projection of her memories. The sound of heavy footsteps rustling through the tall grasses behind her made Belle tense up—usually in this kind of landscape she was always alone, her mere thoughts even an enemy in a peaceful place such as this. Body turning to face the intruder of her dream world, Belle made herself ready to cast off the figment of her imagination, and then she froze.  
><em>

_For _he_ stood there, Rumpelstiltskin, in the form of the man Belle watched die in her arms nearly four years ago to the day. Her jaw slackened, heart palpitating until she felt it begin to swell and bleed inwardly from sight of him. He couldn't help the tight-lipped smile that found its way to his face, so like the imp he had used to be, and so like the man she had not expected to fall in love with. She couldn't move from where her feet held her to the ground, so he had to move for her.  
><em>

_"Is this, is this a memory?" Belle choked out. Rumpelstiltskin merely shook his head as he drew closer to his widow of a wife, pulling her into him like they had done many years ago. She trembled and shook in his arms, wondering when the world would jerk her awake from this moment.  
><em>

_The day of the curse's obliteration slammed back to her when she laid eyes on his face all over again—she recalled a younger and very pregnant version of herself screaming out in anguish with his head in her lap, his eyes fixated on the image of her face one last time before they closed to the world in finality. Belle had wept and wept until the reality of Storybrooke and its residents slipped out from under her and he, the sole being she had expected to appear at her side in their homelands, intact and alive, had dissipated in a pool of gold stardust that carried itself away with the wind.  
><em>

_The curse had been of his creation, constructed out of heartbreak and hate for the world stealing each and every person he loved from him. And so, when the curse's wrath had wasted away at the hands of Emma, their savior, it had taken its maker and enactor with it.  
><em>

_Love had granted him peace in Storybrooke, but it had also granted him his death.  
><em>

_Belle never thought it would hurt this much seeing him, holding the warmth of his body against her again, but she continued to quake with silent tremors of sobbing. He didn't utter a word to her in their silence, fully content with enfolding his arm about her waist and brushing back the flood of tears that kept coming. She knew she was a strong woman, bound to assisting her aging father in upholding a flourishing kingdom and raising daughter single-handedly, husbandless. But even heroines were allowed to break sometimes, and he let her pour out her worries and misery into the sleeve of his shirt.  
><em>

_"I've missed you, love," he finally uttered. He ran a finger along her cheek and down under her chin, tilting it upward to set his dark eyes on the swimming ocean of her baby blues. "You _must_ take care of our little Evelyn." Rumpelstiltskin's voice softened. "We will see each other again. I promise, dearie."  
><em>

_Belle leaned into the gap imminently closing around them, letting her mouth fully press against his until the touch of his lips running over hers had disappeared._

* * *

><p>The following morning Belle awoke with a dull ache in her chest, her lips tingling with the sensation of a remnant kiss staining her mouth red.<p>

Today marked the day of Emma setting the world aright, the day Belle's true love had died.

Those who had lost loved ones in the wake of the curse's destruction Emma paid mind to visit annually, for though the realms were set in proper order again, the heroine of all kingdoms held a fragment burden of guilt deep inside of her. Storybrooke had had its share of happy endings that never were before the curse sunk its roots in the soil, Belle included, and it was Emma's awakened power that took all of those endings with it. Evelyn had been heavily preoccupied with her breakfast when Emma entered their home. Belle pulled her mouth into a welcoming smile at the sight of Emma standing in the entrance hall, for some things can never change regardless of the shift in worlds. Their heroine stood in an outfit akin to the garb Emma's father wears—it would be hard to imagine the lost princess in a ball gown Snow so frequently adorns. During Belle's time in Storybrooke when she was not hidden and locked away from the changed world, she had taken liberties to befriend Emma. Their friendship had in some ways been one of the several puzzle pieces that brought the savior's mind into check with those in Storybrooke who also remembered.

Emma was one of her bridesmaids at her wedding; she was one of the first friends she had told of her pregnancy, and she had been the first and last friend who indirectly took Rumpelstiltskin out of her life. Belle was never one to hold grudges, and after the birth of Evelyn had come and gone a mere three months after Storybrooke's modernity faded from existence, she found it in her heart to forgive what the heroine did not know would happen the second the curse was stripped from all minds. Evelyn's ears perked up at the sound of a visitor in the hall, neglecting her food for a moment and running full speed into the arms of Emma.

"Have you brought sweets from Snow?" she questioned excitedly.

"Evelyn!" Belle scolded. "You haven't seen Emma in a year and the first thing you ask for is candy?"

Emma merely laughed, reaching into the satchel she carried at her side and extracting a pouch filled with baked goods made by her mother. "It's alright, Belle, Evelyn's excited to see me regardless of the sweets, isn't that right?" she grinned.

"Yes!" Evelyn beamed. "Emma has new stories to tell me about dragons and fairies every time she visits. I hope one day I can slay a dragon like you!"

Belle and Emma exchanged a wary glance with one another and laughed.

"She's quite the adventurous child," Belle commented. "Evelyn, dear, go finish your breakfast. Emma and I have adult talk to tend to."

Emma set Belle's daughter back on the ground, giving her a light push in the direction of the kitchen to ensure she'd follow her mother's orders. When Evelyn disappeared behind the door frame, Emma turned to Belle and asked the same question she asks each year to the young widow, "How have you been?"

Belle's mouth tightened briefly, but she slapped a pert smile on her lips and looked up at Emma, replying, "We're all in a happier place because of you, and for that I remain forever grateful. If he hadn't brought Henry to Storybrooke as a babe, we would all still be trapped in a dark place."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Emma stated. "I don't want to know how everyone else in the world is. I want to know how _you_ are." She laid a hand on Belle's shoulder and squeezed, silently comforting her into a state of consolation.

"I am well, Emma," she said. After a gap of time spent in reflection, she added, "I… I dreamt of him last night." Her voice faded out on the remainder of the sentence, and she stared out of the window for a moment, recalling the dream to her memory and holding it close to her heart as best as she could. "He told me to take care of Evelyn, and that we would meet again."

Emma wasn't one to believe in a god or a higher power, not until the day she believed in the curse her son had so ardently insisted was the town of Storybrooke. The heroine nodded her head in assurance and simply stated, "Yes. I think you will."

Just then, Evelyn appeared in the threshold of the doorway to the kitchen, the look on her small and rounded face full of knowing while witnessing her mother's sadness. "Papa always tells me he doesn't like seeing you cry," she paused. Belle stared at Evelyn in wonderment, _our Evelyn_, her breath hitching in her throat at the mentioning of her love communicating with their daughter. Evelyn turned her russet eyes to the right of her, as if she was listening to a voice whispering in her ear. "He says he loves you so much, Mama. He promises."


End file.
